Play the Game at Hand
by Seregwen Morthil
Summary: Brian and Wensley play poker on a hot summer's day. Mild slash. Second person P.O.V. No real plot development. I'm not really sure what this would be, actually...


Summary: Brian and Wensley are playing poker. Nothing ensues, but this was fun to write.

Warning: Please don't smoke. I wrote this fic before I saw a film on smoking and cancer. Please don't smoke; it's really not worth it. Brian and Wensley will probably die at thirty of lung cancer and a stroke ( one each).

Disclaimer: I wished upon a star, I gave bread to a beggar woman, and I threw pennies intot a well (braving a trembly soprano and a flock of deranged pigeons, but that's another story), but I still didn't turn into Terry Pratchett. Oh well. At least I tried.

Note: Yes, yes, I know you want me to just shut up and let you read the story, but hold on one more second. I just want to say that as much as I love A/C, I wish there was a little more B/W in the world. That's all. Oh, and happy non-denominational winter holiday! (I do Christmas, but whatever floats your boat...)

Play the Game at Hand

It's a warm summer day, almost too warm, if such a thing could be in Lower Tadfield, but you don't care about the weather, because Brian's coming over, he should be here any second, and it's always a little too warm with Brian around, Brian with his cards and his cigarettes and his unlabeled bottles, and the doorbell rings and—hey!

Brian's here, and Adam and Pepper are too, and you almost wish they weren't because they're finally dating, but they can't keep their hands off of each other when they're together, they just keep snogging and you're down in the basement and look, they're at it again, but now Brian's talking and you're listening, hanging on every word:

"Honestly, you'd think they'd get a room or a marriage license or something," and you are glad he broke the awkward silence, but now he's dealing, because you play poker, the two of you, and it's serious to Brian so it's serious to you, and you're watching his hands flickering, in and out, in and out, he's shuffling the cards first and now the whole world has shrunk to a table three feet by three feet where a magician bespells everyone with his fascinating cards-magic.

You take a swig of whatever's in the bottle today, and it burns a bit going down your throat, but by now you're used to that and the liquid fire loosens your tongue, and you're not sitting quietly just watching anymore, you're tapping your fingers and demanding a ciggie from Brian and you're taking another sip out of the bottle, maybe a bit bigger than a sip, and you're talking about how American kids have this crazy holiday, right?

"What crazy holiday?" Brian asks, and now he wants to know, and you want to tell him, so you tell him all about it, and this crazy holiday is so weird, and they all do it, but what they do is they go out the night before November, or maybe it was the night before that, whatever, yeah, that's what it was, anyway, but these crazy kids, and your throat's getting dry, so you take another swig, they go out at night and they take all these forks, and they to somebody they don't like, they go to their house, and they stick all these forks in the lawn.

You hold out your ciggie and Brian flips his lighter, which is a little black horse that sneezes sparks or flames, sparks if it's not working that well, but today it is, so you light up and you take a drag, and it's good, calms your nerves, so you go on, about the forks, hundreds of forks, just blam! pointy side in, all over the lawn, those crazy American kids.

No lie.

"No lie?" Brian says, and now he's looking at you and he's smiling, oh god, he's got that Brian trademarked smile, the one that says I've-got-five-aces-in-my-hand-Buddy-and-I-know-you're-bluffing-with-a-pair-of-threes, but it's no lie, and you tell him so, and he nods and takes the bottle and takes a drink, and were you imagining things? because it seems almost as if his lips lingered, ever-so-slightly, on the part of the bottle where you drank, but you're probably just imagining things anyway, so you take another drag on your ciggie, and you get back to cards.

-finis-

Okay, does anybody want to write me a sequel/companion to this? It's completely open to whomever would like it.

Please leave a review, or at least a long interesting flame.

Or at least your name.

-Seri


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